Deep Freeze by Lisa Jackson

where she housed the five horses Allie adored, Jenna walked into the house and hoped to find a local handyman who could help her. “Fat chance,” she thought aloud. In the den, she opened the drawer where she kept her phone books and noticed the red light blinking on her answering machine. Crossing her fingers that Allie hadn’t decided she was feeling worse or that she’d left something else in the truck, Jenna played the messages. The first was from the high school. Cassie, whom she’d dropped off a couple of blocks from the school, was officially AWOL. “Fabulous,” Jenna muttered sarcastically, but refused to panic. Obviously Cassie was with Josh. A lot of good grounding did. The second call was from Harrison Brennan, her neighbor. He was nearly fifty, retired from the Air Force, single, and had intimated more than once that she needed a man to help her out with her place.
    Today, she thought unhappily, he was right.
    The problem was that Harrison considered himself a prime candidate for the job. They’d dated a few times and it was obvious that he was interested in her. She wasn’t certain what she felt for him, but he certainly wasn’t the love of her life, nor her “soul mate,” a term she didn’t understand nor really trust. He was a friend. She doubted he would ever be more.
    “I’m sorry I missed you,” Harrison had recorded. “I was just checkin’ in. I hear we’re in for one helluva storm and wondered if you needed a hand with anything. Give me a call when you get in.”
    She hesitated. She didn’t want to depend on Harrison or let him know that some of his instincts were valid or that she couldn’t handle these rugged acres on her own. When she’d moved to Falls Crossing, she’d been determined to make it on her own and didn’t want to be beholden to anyone. If she’d learned anything from her marriage to Robert, it was that the only person on whom she could count was herself. So she’d better be strong.
    Sighing, she wondered if everyone in California had been right. Maybe her move north had been a rash decision. It had seemed like a good idea to give up her cheating husband, stalled career, and glitzy life in Southern California. She’d opted for something more “real” for her two children and herself, and this large estate set in the mountainous terrain of the Columbia River had caught her attention when she’d been up visiting her friend Rinda and noticed the “For Sale” sign bolted onto the gate. She’d called a local realtor, been shown the ranch, and made an offer. Private, if isolated, her new home was close enough to I-84 that she envisioned herself popping onto the freeway and driving into Portland in a little over an hour.
    The place had seemed perfect when she’d moved here. Set in the hills with oak, pine, and fir trees, a creek, five horses, and an old, half-blind dog that came with the rambling, three-storied log cabin, the hilly acres had appeared to be just what her splintered little family had needed. Charming paned windows, a sharply peaked roof, dormers, and French doors stained to match the rest of the wood interior were complemented by two massive stone fireplaces. Once owned by a timber baron, the house and acres were quaint. Bucolic. A refuge.
    Jenna had fallen in love with the ranch.
    Of course, she’d first seen the gated acres in the waning days of summer when the weather was dry and warm, the view of the swift, dark river spectacular. And it had been at a time when she’d needed to escape the nightmare that had become her life. This house was so roomy, yet cozy, with its north-woodsy, log-cabin charm, and it was only half an hour away from skiing on Mount Hood. The private log home had seemed custom-made for her and her kids.
    But not today, she thought. With the wind whistling down the gorge, the impending threat of snow and ice, and no running water, the place wasn’t quite so enchanting.
    A second after she clicked off the recorder, the phone